


Just Be

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Image, Body Neutrality, Chubby Draco Malfoy, Drabble Structure, Harry Potter wants to be a good boyfriend but he has to get the boyfriend job first, M/M, Pre-Slash, Trigger warning: includes discussion of body issues and negative thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18918481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: Being a pureblood, being a queer man, beingDraco Malfoy, image waseverythingto him. Except, these days, Draco can’t meet those standards. He can’tdowhat people are telling him to do: be it to lose the weight, orlovehis body.But perhaps...he could just be.





	Just Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for [ssenbonzakuraa](https://ssenbonzakuraa.tumblr.com) 🤗😘 I hope you like it.
> 
> This was read over and beta’ed by [potter-loves-malfoy](https://potter-loves-malfoy.tumblr.com) /[ HeyItsGem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyItsGem) 🤗

 

# 1.

Draco tried not to look in the mirror as he went to open his wardrobe. But as always, his eyes drew to it, and a sense of gagging crawled up his throat. Dressed in only a towel around his waist, everything was so clear. _Too clear_ : from the pink flush in his cheeks, hot from his shower; to the curve in his face and chin where there should have been sharp lines, to the swell of his waistline. There was no _hair_ to make him a bear; no _muscle_ to make him masculine, and too much fat to make him attractive.

“Hmm, better work out,” his mirror said. “Not much of a Malfoy, are you?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Draco growled. He opened the wardrobe heavily and grabbed a pair of black robes with the thinnest, most subtle vertical slimming lines of dark grey. A high collar that hid the fat in his neck, and billowing material to hide the shape of his body. He was but _one_ step from charming extra undetectable space in the folds.

Except, he couldn’t hide from himself. And if he hid, _other people_ would know he had something to hide.

 _Oh_ , his mother implied it was fine, encouraging Draco to eat more at the table. She _pinched_ his chubby cheeks, and told him that she loved him.

And for his old school friends...only Millicent was not slim, but the butch dyke aesthetic fitted her like a rough and ready pair of gloves. It wasn’t the same for queer witches, anyway.

A house-elf appeared with a _pop_. “Your mother and Harry Potter are awaiting you in the gardens.”

“I’m _coming_ ,” Draco retorted. He held out his hand, and the elf disapparated him to Malfoy Manor’s rose gardens.

A semi-opaque awning floated above the garden table and chairs upon which his mother and Potter sat. His mother was dressed in pale yellow robes with a sheer silver over-robe, beautiful and slim. Harry Potter was dressed in muggle style trousers and a short sleeve shirt, hair a riot on lean arms and head, and a neat, small beard.

Potter gave him a crooked grin that had his stomach flipping. Draco forced the emotion down and tried to smile back pleasantly. After all, Potter was a saint—he smiled at _everyone_ , from ugly babes newly born to the grungiest hag. So instead, Draco took a deep breath and kept the pleasant smile on his face and took a seat the table.

  


# 2.

“Well, I must retire,” Narcissa announced at the end of the meal. “Why don’t you boys spend some time together?”

“I’m sure Potter has other things to do—” Draco started immediately.

But Potter gave a big smile. “I would _love_ to.”

With a sense of disquiet, Draco’s mother departed, leaving Draco alone with Potter. Potter stood, rolling his shoulders, muscles flexing.

Uncomfortably, Draco stood too, casting a discreet freshening charm on himself. “Shall we explore Mother’s gardens, then?”

“I _helped_ her plant some of it,” Potter said easily. “But, lets.”

They walked in silence, and Draco tried very hard not to look at the perfection that was Harry Potter.

“Actually,” Potter finally said, “I’m being selfish.”

Draco snorted. “Really?” He glanced at Potter, who was grinning sheepishly.

“Lunches with you and your mother are great, but...could we have dinner together? Just the two of us?”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Did that mean—except, it _couldn’t_ be true. It was probably just a horrible joke. “I’m no fool,” he spat out.

Potter flinched. “Draco, I _mean_ it.”

Draco turned and faced him square on, fists clenched by his side. “Don’t play coy with me, Potter. What’s your motive?”

Potter nibbled his bottom lip. “I...I want you...um...”

Draco scowled. “Yes?”

Potter shook his head. “I just wanted to cook for you, and you know...” A flush crawled up his cheeks.

But Draco felt cold. “What? Are you going to make me eat _healthy_ food? Or, do you want to _feed_ me?”

Potter’s eyes widened, he quickly shook his head. “Merlin, no! I didn’t mean it like that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For fuck’s sake, I _like you_ , Draco Malfoy. So can we _please_ go on a date?”

“You _don’t_.” Draco shook his head. “Why? _How_? I’m...” His mind supplied words like _dis_ _gusting_ and _ugly_ and even...but he couldn’t bear to say any of them aloud.

“You’re—you’re really making me do this?” Potter begged. But he must have caught something in Draco’s demeanour, for Potter pressed his lips together and stood up straighter. “You’re funny, and you’re sarcastic, and our humour is the same, and _fuck_ , I could listen to you talk about potions for hours even though I _hate_ potions, but you just make everything so _interesting_. And, your eyes are amazing, and I’ve secretly wanted to touch your hair for _years_...”

And Potter was dancing around the erumpent in the gardens. “I’m not what I used to be,” Draco said.

“But, of course—I’m really sorry that you have to contend with Death Eater remarks even now—”

“That’s _not_ what I meant! I’m not fucking handsome anymore! You deserve someone amazing. Like Ginerva Weasley, even,” Draco spat.

Potter reach out for Draco’s hands. Draco yanked them away.

“But...I like you. All of you.”

“You like people like me, then?” Draco sneered. “Go chase some other overweight wizard.”

Potter’s face fell. He took a deep breath. “You...I liked you before, got it? I like you now, too—”

Draco’s heart was racing, and a part of him was overjoyed, but he just couldn’t believe Potter’s words. “So you’ll just _pretend_ that I’m not.”

“Draco. It’s—” Potter gave a heavy sigh. “So you’re saying that if I like you regardless of your weight, then I somehow hate your weight and am ignoring it. But if I like all of you, including how you look, then I have a fat kink. I can’t win, can I?”

Draco flinched back. “No.”

“Well...” Potter’s face fell. “I’m still offering for dinner. As just friends. I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

“I’ll owl you,” Draco said stiffly. “Let me escort you out.”

Potter tried to smile, but he failed, miserably. Draco tried not to look at him.

  


# 3.

Draco’s mind was foggy all throughout dinner with his mother that evening. It remained heavy as he got into bed.

Potter liked him.

Potter had to be lying.

But Potter _liked_ him.

Draco was set up to fail, regardless.

But there was something off about Potter’s words. Why did Potter mention his Death Eater past? Sure, it made the papers in a regular fashion whenever a crime appeared, but Draco _knew_ he was more than his teenage self. And he knew Potter didn’t mind it: after all, Potter had testified for Draco even before they were friends.

Thoughts chased themselves around Draco’s head, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

*

When Draco woke up, something _clicked_ in his mind.

Draco thought Potter’s comment about his Death Eater past was odd, because Draco had _moved on_. He’d stopped caring, for the most part, about it. He had done his community service, he was working hard to be better, he was _helping_ people with his potions and potions research.

Having been a death eater was a part of him, but it didn’t _define_ him.

How was being...being _fat_ any different?

He didn’t have to love the journey of his teenage years to what he was now. He didn’t have to love his body.

He didn’t _need_ to look pretty to make potions. He didn’t _need_ to look handsome to conduct research. His body just _was_ , a necessity for him to do what he wanted to do. He was so much more than the Dark Mark on his arm; so why couldn’t he be much more than the weight on his body?

Draco got out of bed, feeling the sense of pressure and judgemental eyes shedding off of him.

He still went and dressed in customary black robes with the thin stripes, but he _did_ like the robes and the fall of them.

And he owled Potter: for dinner as friends. As for more...that was on the table, too. Draco just needed to be brave enough to _allow_ himself to be happy as he was. And somehow, he had the feeling that he’d get there.

  


_Fin_.

  



End file.
